


Picture Perfect Mutilation

by PSIDontKnow



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Cannibalism, Dismemberment, Lotsa murder and blood, Other, Therapy is needed, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PSIDontKnow/pseuds/PSIDontKnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something relieving about sharing your psychosis with another person, to be able to laugh and sing and dance with them in sunlight and in a dimly lit storage shed covered in blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect Mutilation

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [This ](http://dsmbrvltg3.tumblr.com/post/79443094707/murder) and [This,](http://pprathrty.tumblr.com/post/81374185008/i-got-lazy-and-sleepy-while-working-on-this) as well as Skyping with Fishy

      Namine has two faces, it's how she loves to keep it. Loves it like flowers and loves it like the splash of blood on her skin. She doesn't remember how it had happened, just that sometime between fourteen page essays and bake sale cookies, there was blood on the edge of her favorite white dress, any edge of it, and she felt more alive than she had in a while. It had been something quick, break out the fire ax the dingy apartment building she lived in and swing. The first swing severs the spine, slicing neatly between L1 and L2. She takes care with the second swing, placing her body into it, like she'd learned from the second hand lessons her sister had given her. It takes her two swings to separate the head, the blade of the ax landing wrong the first time.  
      She drags the body behind a dumpster, settling it under garbage bags that have accumulated there. It's another three days until pick up, so there should be sufficient enough time to get rid of any evidence. That is, if they even suspect her, she's barely 120 pounds soaking wet, even if she is 5'7, and a girl living alone at that. This still gives her no excuse to be sloppy and she still walks three miles to the park with the dress in a small plastic bag after she washed it and shoves it in a waste bin, gloves tugged over her hands.  
     She begins to study medical journals and anatomy in her spare time.

     She finds the way she and Sora met funny.  
      It's been a year since she began, and she's got a new car and a system of what to do. She's marked a target this time, procured herself a lovely storage unit in a shady area, she has what she needs to do, something marked and efficient like the rest of her seventeen year old life. He's smaller than her, but he plays beautifully, his fingers delicate and she has the sudden remembrance of reading Frankenstein as a child to make her contemplate preserving them.  
     It doesn't matter at that moment though because she disperses with the rest of the small crowd when he begins to, heading for a backpack she's left tucked in a few low hanging branches before following the violinist down an alley. There's giddy nerves churning in her gut as she does, the sunset light painting the alley in purple shadows, and she reaches back, pulling the ax out.  
     It's a shock that when she gets the wedge against his neck, there's a knife against hers, just as scented of bleach as her own weapon. They stare at each other for a moment before her mouth twists into a smile and a giggle bubbles up from his lips.  
      They become friends, but more than that-  
     They become partners.

      There's something relieving about sharing your psychosis with another person, to be able to laugh and sing and dance with them in sunlight and in a dimly lit storage shed covered in blood. They work together sometimes, other times apart. The times they work together is vicious, rope burns marring wrists and precise cuts where Sora wants to inflict pain and Namine wants to see if her books were right.  
     There's music playing in the background and two teenagers dressed in underthings, a wifebeater and boxers for Sora, a slip for Namine, and there's confusion before there's pain and tears. It leaves a sweet taste in the back of her mouth, even if there's the smell of copper tickling the back of her throat and Sora sometimes pulls her away to dance and their plaything bleeds out. He takes them apart afterwards, after Namine's chosen her trophy, a piece to keep in a little jar on a shelf, full of preservatives. She leaves him to cook his trophy himself, preferring to leave herself out of cannibalism and cooking catastrophes.  
      She comes in at one point, through the side door that she'd made sure the unit would have and not the garage type door, to him kissing a head. She smooths down the red dress she wears, as she speaks.  
     "That's a new developement." Her voice is calm and smooth as she walks up next to Sora, watching the way he clutches the head close to his chest, a grin twisting his face into a sick parody of a clown with blood splatter like tears on his cheeks and blood smeared across his lips.  
     "He's mine, I'm keeping him forever."  
     "You shouldn't have cut him up this bad then. It's going to take forever to find enough jars for him. Even longer if you want me to try and stitch him up." She reaches down, resting her chin on Sora's shoulder as she brushes the tips of her fingers through blood matted silver strands. "He is rather pretty though."  
     "He's mine." Sora huffs, sounding like a petulent child as he clutches the head closer, garnering a chuckle from the blonde.  
     "I figured, you couldn't even wait until I got back for this one." She leans her head against his, one hand creeping towards his throat, the other heading for the tray they'd kept near the metal slab they'd salvaged from an empty sanitorium.   
     "Sora, do you remember another one you killed without me? A pretty little girl with black hair and blue eyes?" There's a hum of response from Sora, smile still on his lips and this close, Namine can feel his pulse as she digs her fingers into his neck bringing a knife close.  
     "Her name is Xion." Her fingers dig in tighter and she can feel his muscles begin to tense, trying to see if this is a threat or not. "They say that most serial killers have a trigger that prompts their actions, something that let's out those urges in their mind." She plunges the blade in, severing the artery. There's something unsatisfying when he drops to the floor, covered in his own blood and someone else's. She's methodical in grabbing the ax, still the same she'd first killed with, and hacking off his head in one clean slice.  
     "She was my sister, my trigger." She whispers, bending down to pick up his head. "You cut her into five pieces and left her on the step of her school. It took me a while to realize that it had been you, but it was." She sighs, carefully setting the piece on the table, stooping over to pick up the other one.  
     "You both are so pretty, you'll be even prettier after I clean you up. First though, I'm going to have Sora give me a hand, the left one to be precise."

     She gets away with it, until they notice the blood in her paintings is real.


End file.
